


Listen

by VisionaryGalaxy



Series: A Thousand Futures of Me and You [59]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Boys In Love, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Stephen Strange, M/M, Mild Smut, Scars, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionaryGalaxy/pseuds/VisionaryGalaxy
Summary: Four times Stephen tried to hide his scars from Tony and one time he didn't.





	Listen

**Author's Note:**

> Medical inaccuracies abound!
> 
> Also this was what came from my Hidden Scars fic lol.

   In retrospect, Tony should have seen it earlier. It wasn’t as though Stephen was trying to hide it very hard, or at least he wasn’t any good at hiding it. Still, Tony had been oblivious those first few months in which they explored the mutual attraction that flared between them in the aftermath of Titan. Tony hadn’t hesitated, he and Pepper were already on rocky ground and it quickly became obvious after the ordeal, friendship would serve them better then marriage, it was hard, but he didn’t regret it.

   Still, it was probably because Stephen seemed to be so damn tactile. Tony loved it, readily accepting the gentle touches to the small of his back, the squeezing of his shoulder, the hugs that came from post-battle haze. Stephen also seemed equally comfortable with Tony’s own tactile nature, the way he ran his fingers through the taller man’s hair in greeting, the quick kisses to his cheek, the arms slung around his waist, the way he liked to leave his hand resting on the back of Stephen’s neck in meetings. They were naturally touchy people, what with him being a mechanic and Stephen being a surgeon, it was their most valuable asset.

   So, it came as a shock when he came up to Stephen during one of their small celebrations, which Tony was hosting, because after Titan, everything was worth a party, and tried to slide his hand into his lover’s only for the taller man to snatch it away just as quickly. There hadn’t been anyone around, Stephen had been gazing across the balcony into the night, though now he was hiding both his hands underneath the protective embrace of the Cloak, not meeting Tony’s eyes, and having paled significantly.

   It made Tony freeze, the air between them going from its usual comfortable affection to something cold and weary. Carefully, he placed his hands on the bannister, allowed Stephen privacy but setting his gaze out into the dark, he swallowed thickly before speaking, “sorry, are they hurting today?”

   It was a stupid question really, they were always hurting, but he heard Stephen let out a little sigh, he understood what he meant, “no, Tony its alright. I just…” his word faded out, unsure.

   Tony glanced over at him, saw his brows furrowed, saw the way the Cloak’s edges really were acting like a protective shield, hiding them away from Tony’s prying eyes. What he saw in the other man’s expression was strange, especially for Stephen, yet it wasn’t all that difficult to identify.

  He remembered then, that although their relationship thus far had been short, going on five months, he had never held Stephen’s hands in his own, had never had the chance to kiss them, to caress the scarred and aching skin. Tony’s mind reached back to the gloves the man so often wore with his outfit and he realized what he should have known before, he didn’t like them, he didn’t want people to look at them.

   Tony’s stomach twisted. Stephen Strange, since the day he saved the world and Tony’s life on Titan was the most confident, snarky, even empathetic man he knew, sliding insecure into that list made his head spin because he was the last man who should feel that way. Not to mention, the fact that Tony had more then his own fair share of scars and there was no reason for Stephen to believe his were worse in any way.

   The silence between them was becoming suffocating. So, Tony did what he did best, he turned toward the table on the deck, filled to bursting with drinks and picked out two for themselves. He offered it to Stephen, watched as those bright eyes assessed him for a moment, before slowly, his hand slid out from his haven and with glowing fingers so they wouldn’t shake, accepted the glass.

   They sipped at their glasses, Stephen looking up at the night sky, Tony looking at him, “you know,” he began quietly. “I don’t mind your hands.”

   Stephen winced, “I know Tony. But…its not-”

   “Its not about what I think,” Tony interrupted. “Its about what you think, right?”

   Stephen seemed to relax suddenly, a small grateful smile curling over his lips as he looked down at him, “yeah, yes. They are my burden to bare and I’m not ready to share them yet.”

   Nodding, Tony put his glass down and carefully looped his arm through Stephen’s mindful not to touch his trembling hand despite how much he wanted to, instead bringing his own around to press against his own stomach. He leaned against Stephen who did the same in companionable silence.

   He understood, to a degree. Stephen had no reason to be insecure about his hands in Tony’s book, but he supposes his hands represent more then a scarred and broken limb. They were once his livelihood, his passion, and now…well now they were a reminder of what he lost. It would be difficult, he suspects, to entrust them to another person, both physically considering the near constant pain, and emotionally. If Stephen wasn’t ready to let Tony worship them like he so desperately wanted to, then he would wait, with as much patience as he could muster.

\---

   In the end, it was probably naïve of Tony to think Stephen’s insecurity began and stopped at his hands. Though, in his defense, there weren’t any other obvious signs, unlike his hands, to indicate Stephen’s discomfort extended to his other scars as well. He could admit, however, that he should have handled the situation a bit better.

   They had been battling the ugliest damn thing Tony had ever seen. It was like the worst, giant mix of a bulldog, a squid, and an insect. Apparently, according to Stephen it was a Gatris, not like he cared, honestly, he just wanted it dead before it descended onto the populated central city, from its current location in the industrial section. It was only the fourth battle Stephen had joined the Avengers on since Titan and it was with extreme reluctance, though apparently because it was an inter-dimensional creature that was generally harmless, except under pressure, it was his responsibility to send it back to its world.

   It was a hard sell; the Avengers figured the best bet was to kill the damn thing. Still, watching Stephen angrily make his case had been both amazing and arousing. Regardless, they were all in position, after successfully crowding it into a corner, where Stephen would open the portal and send it tumbling back.

   Full proof, except for the whole bit where Tony’s rocket, carefully targeting to the side of the creature and not at, hit a pile of barrels that were apparently filled to bursting with explosive material. The subsequent blowback did in fact sent the creature falling through the portal, but it also sent half the team tumbling several feet back, and Stephen and Wanda got the worst of it.

   Tony’s heart had frozen in his chest, a sense of horrific dread rushing through his skull as he sent himself sailing after the two dark figures. The larger portal disappeared, the creature no longer a threat. He came to a running stop to find Stephen and Wanda both on their knees, coughing up dust and wiping debris from their faces.

   “Are you guys alright?” he tried to keep himself from sounding too frantic, but from the rueful smile on Stephen face, he failed miserably.

   “No thanks to you!” Wanda snapped.

   Stephen was the only one who seemed unaffected by the unexpected flight, which was probably thanks to the Cloak, which seemed to be puffing up slightly, “are you hurt Wanda?” he inquired calmly.

   She shook her head, “no, just a few scratched and bruises,” another glare sent his way.

   Stephen stood, brushing himself off and Tony helped Wanda up, despite her narrowed eyes, another portal appeared, “go on through, I’ll give everyone a lift to the infirmary.”

   She nodded her thanks and stepped through. Tony ran his eyes over Stephen, searching for any other injury, but despite the thin coat of dust in his hair, on his skin, he seemed fine, “sorry about that-”

   “Its fine Tony, honestly, he probably wouldn’t have gone through without that push.”

   Tony chose to take him at his word. His suit began to retract into its housing unit and he followed him back to the huddle of Avengers, a few of them with scratched, Sam, holding his arm awkwardly and Clint holding his leg where blood was seeping through.

   There were briefly exchanged evaluations, then everyone was being charted with the portal into the infirmary where Bruce was waiting, unamused.

   They were the last to go through and Tony swore he saw Stephen limp from the corner of his eyes. He zeroed in on it as subtly as possible and several minutes later, while Stephen was talking briefly with Steve, certainly telling him not to expect his help again anytime soon, he saw a small dark patch seeping through the side of Stephen’s tunic.

   He knew it, he fucking knew it. Guilt stirred in him but taking a steadying breath he went to Stephen’s side and murmured into his ear, making sure it was subtle, “meet me in examination room three.”

   He went, despite feeling Stephen stiffen. He knew why the man might not have said anything, Stephen was obsessed with not revealing any weakness to the Avengers and Tony understood that, the man was representing an entire ancient organization when he was there and had been intrusted once more with the Time Stone. Still, it grated on his nerves.

   He found himself pacing the small area, hands behind his back, waiting impatiently for Stephen to join him. He came not three minutes later, eyeing Tony’s wearily and standing by the door. Tony looked at him and shook his head in exasperation.

   “Come sit down.”

   Stephen pursed his lips, “why?”

   Tony patted the bed, “because you’re hurt and it lookes like you need stiches. We also both know you won’t let any one out there do it.”

   Stephen shifted uncomfortably, one hand coming up to hover over the wound, the fabric around which had only grown darker, “Tony I think I-”

   “Do you think you can walk and talk? I don’t want you bleeding out while you tell me how fine you are,” Tony stated, already gathering the needle, thread, disinfectant.

   He glanced over when his lover still hadn’t moved, “I can take care of it at home.”

   Tony frowned, “except you don’t have to. Plus, I’d rather make sure your fine myself since you’ve already lied about it once today.”

   He could see the indecision in Stephen’s eyes, but apparently the Cloak was on his side because it began dragging its master toward the bed despite his glare. Tony just smiled, as he was seated on the bed, “see even your cape is worried.”

   It smacked Tony hard, making him wince, “Cloak,” Stephen corrected automatically.

   Tony decided now wasn’t the time to start an argument with the sentient fabric, “fine. Now take off your…tunic? Whatever that is.”

   Stephen smiled weakly but made no move. For the first time Tony paused, taking in the way his lover was averting his eyes, his trembling fingers pulling at the edge of the tunic, the obvious discomfort in his expression.

   Tony was abruptly reminded of the night on the balcony, almost two weeks ago now. He knew Stephen’s chest was scarred, at felt it on the numerous heavy petting occasions, the long make-out session in his bed. Tony had a habit of sliding his hand into Stephen’s robes and feeling the heated skin there, scars and all. It had never bothered Stephen, if anything the man had always encouraged it.

   But…they were taking things slow. They hadn’t had sex yet, hadn’t gone beyond blow jobs, hand jobs, a bit of rutting. In each of those scenarios, Tony realized he hadn’t seen Stephen completely naked yet, not once. In fact, he could recall now, even when Stephen spent the night, the man disappeared into the bathroom to change, usually after a shower, always had a shirt of some sort covering his chest.

   This, sewing up the wound, would be the first time Tony saw Stephen’s chest and that was causing the anxiety in his eyes.

   Tony knew he was monumentally unequipped to handle a situation like this. He himself had never been particularly self-conscious about his chest, and this was knowing it was battlefield slowly created over the past ten years. That made it all the more difficult to figure this out, which meant in the end he resorted to the only thing he knew, blunt, humor.

   “You know,” Tony said as he sanitized the needle. “It can’t look any worse then mine.”

   Stephen shifted uncomfortably, where he sat at on the bed. Tony watched as he seemed to be bracing himself, then in one smooth move, his hands were pulling and tugging at strips of fabric until he could spread and pull down the top half of the tunic.

   Stephen wasn’t looking at him, staring resolutely at the wall behind him. Tony forced himself not to react, instead immediately picking up a cloth and tending to the wound sluggishly bleeding on his side. It wasn’t that bad, really, no where near the damage Tony was sporting. That being said, it was still an impressive array of experiences. Even with his untrained eye, Tony could detect the wounds from the crash, thin slivery scars, the professionalism clear as day. While others…were obviously recent and handled himself. These scars were more ragged, angry, crooked instead of smooth, exactly what Tony would expect from trembling hands.

   Yet, for all that, his eyes were drawn to other features. Stephen was _fit_ , like really fit. He shouldn’t be surprised, he knew, he felt the man up plenty of times, but still _seeing_ the evidence was different from feeling. You expected magic to be a…passive defense system but it was clear Stephen worked out regularly, the subtle six pack and clearly defined pecs leaving Tony feeling heated at a time it was definitely not appropriate. Still, he was never good at controlling himself, his mind getting carried away with thoughts of sucking on the small peaked nipples, his tongue exploring the smattering of chest hair, leaving his own marks on his pale skin….

   “Enjoying the view?” Stephen asked tightly, fingers digging into the sheets on either side of him, gaze still looking past him.

   “Yes, actually,” Tony answered, setting aside the now blood-soaked cloth and seeing that the wound wasn’t too bad, but stitches for sure. He picked up the needle and thread. “Oh yeah, pain meds?”

   Stephen shook his head, “no, I’m used to it.”

   Tony didn’t let himself think about that too much, getting to work and pinching the skin together. As he worked, Tony tried to find a way to put Stephen at ease, anything that might at least remove the tension in the air.

   “I was right you know.”

   “About what?”

   “Nowhere near as bad as mine, don’t know what you were nervous about.”

   Stephen’s eyes fell closed, but his hands relaxed their grip on the sheet, small victory and Tony would take it, even if the man didn’t say anything else while the stitching was finished, tied, and cut.

   The moment Tony leaned back and deposited the needle and thread, Stephen began to pull on the robes again, “wait, wait.” He said quickly.

   He narrowed his eyes at him, “what?”

   Tony went over to the sink and began cleaning his hands, he nodded at the bedside table, “you should probably wipe it off again, and I’d love to hear your professional opinion on my stitching skills,” he waggled his eyebrows at him, smiling a bit.

   Stephen hesitated, before picking up the damp cloth and dabbing at the wound with a single-minded purpose. Tony didn’t miss the way he was forcibly avoiding looking at the rest of his chest. He tossed the rag away, looking at his handy work for a moment before shrugging.

   “Its fine. Exactly what I’d expect from a mechanic.”

   “Hey! What does that mean?!”

   There was a small smile on Stephen’s lips as he answered, sliding his robes back on and tightening it, even as he mourned the loss, “rough, direct, little finesse or personal design.”

   Tony rolled his eyes, coming to stand in front of his lover again, “oh I’m sorry, I thought I was stitching a wound not designing a sports car.”

   Now that was a proper smile on the man’s face and Tony was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, but he didn’t. Instead, he lifted a hand to cup Stephen’s cheek, making the man look up at him curiously and forcing Tony to take a deep breath.

   “Listen, I just want to be clear on something.”

   Weariness slid into his eyes and Tony was going to make it his mission to eradicate that reaction when he got serious. He started by stroking at the man’s cheekbone, “when you’re hurt, let me help you. I don’t really appreciate being lied to, especially about that. If you can do that, I can promise to do the same.”

   Stephen paused, his hands coming to rest on Tony’s hips, “I promise to tell you if I’m hurt and to take proper medical precautions.”

   Tony didn’t miss the loophole there. But he chose not to pursue it, they had a long day and he could hear voices coming closer from down the hallway, “alright.”

   He pressed a hard kiss to Stephen’s lips and felt him respond eagerly, all signs of the shy, insecure man gone in a flash.

\---

   Tony really should have learned from that encounter. Well…he should have learned from both of those, but to be fair, the next time the issue presented itself they were both in a…different state of mind.

   It was another celebration, effectively winding down with the last guests of Pepper and Rhodey simply waiting for their rides home. Cleanup was practically done as well, thanks to a conveniently placed portal much to Stephen’s disapproval. They were celebrating a recent victory once again, a minor one, but Tony saw no reason to ignore it. Both he and Stephen were relaxed, feeling the effects of the alcohol but far from tipsy, or even buzzed.

   Unsurprisingly, as soon as the final guests left, they found themselves in Tony’s large king size bed, bodies pressed closely together while they traded lazy kisses. It was moments like this, when Stephen’s tongue tangled with his, trembling fingers twisting in his hair, a leg thrown over his, that Tony could forget the months of self-hatred after Titan, could be grateful for Stephen’s willingness to _try_ despite his doubts.

   The hand in Tony’s hair disappeared, only to clutch at his hip, tugging him closer and making him let out a little gasp. Stephen chuckled lightly and Tony retaliated my detaching from his warm lips and pressing kisses to the sorcerer’s over-sensitive neck, sucking lightly enough not to leave a mark, but make him feel it.

   Tony’s skin was sparking with heat, and need, and desire as he practically rutted against Stephen’s leg, pressed between his own. He wanted to be closer, he needed to feel Stephen properly and without thinking, he found himself pulling away only to immediately clamber on top of Stephen, so he was straddling him. Both men let out a low groan as they pressed together, Stephen’s trembling hands coming up to grip Tony’s hips tightly.

He stared down at Stephen, who gazed back with dark eyes, disheveled hair, a thin line of sweat on his forehead. Tony felt those fingers flex against his hip and it was entirely possible it was just a pained spasm, but he took it for encouragement instead, and began slowly rocking his hips against Stephen, whose eye fell shut, mouth opening in a pleasured little gasp.

   It was intoxicating, always was with Stephen. The man was always strung so tight, saving the world, being crush by responsibilities he couldn’t even imagine and to make him forget even for a second sent a heady rush of power through him.

   They were both hard, distractingly so and Tony was more then ready to beg Stephen to just fuck him already, but he didn’t want that…not for their first time. So, instead he forced himself to keep going, giving them just enough friction so they wouldn’t flag, not pushing for more just yet.

   But, when Stephen’s hands slid higher, until his thumbs were stroking just under Tony’s shirt as though curious, he didn’t hesitate to slide his shirt off, grateful to get the damp fabric off his heated skin. Stephen’s reaction was instantaneous, the gentle rolling of his hips slowing as his hands slid up higher, tentative.

   Tony wasn’t having it, “its alright.”

   Stephen swallowed thickly, his fingers pausing on the first scar, stroking it. The urgency abated and Tony found his eyes laser focused on the progression of Stephen’s hands, the feeling of their trembling coolness moving over his heated skin, every bump and ridge decorating his chest. Within moments his head was spinning at the sensation, the way he treated them with fragile reverence.

   And when they finally reached the mass of sensitive scar tissue marking the center, Tony had to hold back a whine at the feeling. His clever fingers circled it before moving to the middle and pressing gently, stroking, and then suddenly, Stephen was sitting up, directly in front of him and making both men gasp as they rubbed harshly together. Stephen lowered his head and pressed the most tender kiss against the scar and Tony felt his eyes sting in both surprise and the surge of pure, absolute _love_ in the action.

   Tony’s hands came up to grip Stephen’s face and drag him into a hard, uncompromising kiss, while he began to grind properly against the man again. He was filled with the urge to give Stephen the same, because the man in his bed, his arms, his heart, deserved to feel that kind of love about his own.

   Before he knew it, he was tugging Stephen’s shirt up, the man laughing lightly when it was caught on his head and making him pull way for a moment to shed it. He looked up at Tony’s flushed face with an expectant one of his own, nipping at the skin where his neck met his chest.

   Tony’s hands were already sliding from Stephen’s shoulders, down into his chest hair when he felt Stephen still beneath his hands, “Stephen?”

   Stephen’s hands came to grip his hips again, unexpectedly, as he suddenly rolled them over, so Tony was laying beneath him, Stephen placed firmly between his legs. Those same hands then reached up to grip Tony’s wrists, and as he kissed at his neck, he placed them firmly against the pillow above him, pressing lightly to tell him to keep them there.

   Stephen pulled back, looked into his eyes with that dreaded weary determination, “I love you,” he murmured.

   Tony stared up at him, saw the quiet begging in his eyes. The sight sent a pang of sadness through him, recognition that he still wasn’t ready, didn’t know how to share himself like that just yet. It hurt. How could it not? But Tony was nothing if not committed and if Stephen wasn’t ready to let him explore his scars then so be it.

   He pressed a kiss to his lips, something quick and reassuring, “ok, ok yeah, I love you too.”

   The look in his eyes would make Tony burn the world to see it again.

\---

   Tony waited exactly five days from that night to bring up Stephen’s aversion to his scars. He was tired of being surprised, of accidentally setting the man on edge, and of learning the boundaries himself. He thought that maybe, if he brought it up to him, maybe got him to open up about them verbally first, it would be a good step toward accepting Tony’s touch. Maybe, if Tony was better at being tactful it would have worked.

   They were in the Sanctuary, Tony wrapped in the plush, warm comforter on the bed, watching as Stephen rummaged through his drawers, naked but for the towel around his waist. It was progress, no doubt about it, but Tony was greedy, and he didn’t want to just see them, he wanted to touch, and kiss, and _know._

   Stephen let out an irritated sigh, the Cloak hovered closer at its master’s annoyance. Tony had started to realize that Cloak was almost as sensitive to Stephen’s nakedness as the man himself, as though it were just waiting for a sign of discomfort from him to swoop in and cover the evidence of his battles.

   “You alright?” Stephen asked over his shoulder, as he made his way to the closet.

   “Peachy,” he muttered, trying and failing to summon courage.

   Stephen didn’t seem to notice, continuing on his mission.

   Finally, Tony took a deep breath, now or never. He levelled his gaze on Stephen, prepared to look for signs from his body, “Stephen, actually I wanted to talk to you about something.”

   The muscles in Stephen’s back tensed for a moment before relaxing, “ok, about what?”

“The scar thing.”

The tension was back instantly, his hand freezing from where it was going to pull something off a hook. The Cloak floated closer, but Stephen waved it away, turning to grab a robe that Tony knew he wasn’t intending to grab. He pulled it on, wrapped it snuggly around himself and tied it so his chest was covered.

   Tony stomach twisted at the sight, the feeling that they had somehow just taken a huge step backwards. For Stephen’s part that god damn weariness was back, as he approached the bed, only to perch on the end, almost as far from Tony as he could get.

   “The scar _thing_?” he asked impassively.

   Tony winced, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

   “How did you mean it then?”

   Tony blew a sigh, “Stephen listen. I want to meet you half way here that’s all. I…just want to know the rules.”

   His expression remained painfully blank, “rules?”

   “Yeah, you know like don’t touch your hands, but its ok if you touch me with them. Its ok to look at your chest but don’t touch, or at least don’t touch where there are scars,” he waved at Stephen. “Yeah, rules.”

   Stephen swallowed thickly, eyes suddenly looking past him, “I didn’t realize I was inconveniencing you so much.”

   Tony blinked, “what?”

   “They’re disgusting you know. Absolutely revolting.”

   Tony got the distinct feeling that Stephen wasn’t even talking directly to him, like he had just slipped away into that head of his, the way he did sometimes since Titan, and it was honestly terrifying, “Stephen?” he tried.

   “My hands, you know you can feel the metal under the skin, feel the plates grinding against the bone. They are always cold to the touch because the nerves are so damaged, not to mention the scar tissue. Then of course there is my chest, it took nearly-”

   “Stephen, stop it,” Tony snapped.

   His eyes focused, looking at him properly for the first time since the conversation started, “sorry. You wanted to know right? This isn’t about _rules_ or _boundaries,_ this is about your curious nature, right? You just can’t stand not knowing, don’t worry there have been at least six medical journal articles published about my surgery not hard to find it.”

   Tony felt sick, completely and utterly sickened by Stephen’s words. The worst part though was the fact that he wasn’t wrong. He _did_ want to know, he wondered and analyzed to many times to figure out exactly how some of them came to be. But that wasn’t all, he wanted to know because Stephen wanted him to, he had no interest in looking up articles and medical journals about what happened. The only thing worse then that insinuation was hearing Stephen spew hatred about his scars, to hear how revolting he found them.

   He didn’t know how to fix this, how to fix the blankness in Stephen’s expression, the self-loathing in his words, this conversation. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of, “is that how you feel about my scars?”

   Stephen’s reaction was as though he’d been slapped, which was exactly how Tony felt. He blinked rapidly at him, face scrunching in confusion, “of course not. Your scars are what made you Ironman, they are proof of everything you’ve sacrificed for this world. They are just you.”

   It would be difficult to wrap his head around the hypocrisy of that statement if it didn’t click for Tony in that moment. Defense mechanism, not so unlike Tony’s, but where his was sarcasm, Stephen’s was anger, deflection.

   He struggled to find a way forward, “if I feel the same way about yours?”

   He didn’t seem to have an answer to that, frowning at his statement, “why would you?”

   “Because they are just scars Stephen. Their experiences, mostly painful but I think we both know there is always some good to be found too. Your scars don’t change who you are right now and I the person you are now is who I love. All I’m asking is to be gifted that piece of you, when you’re ready.”

   Stephen’s eyes went glassy and Tony wondered if he really fucked it up, but the man was shaking his head, “I’m sorry I can’t.”

   Something not so different to panic settled in Tony’s gut, afraid he had pushed Stephen too far. Stephen was hugging himself tightly, eyes going in and out of focus, “hey, are you alright?” he yearned to reach out but didn’t dare.

   Stephen took several settling breaths, “Tony, I know this isn’t fair to you, but can we stop talking about it?”

   Tony was nodding immediately, “ok, yeah I’m sorry.”

   His lover gave a pained laugh, “don’t apologize. I’ll tell you a head of time if something bothers me, I just…I can’t…I’m not ready to trade stories about them ok?”

\---

   Obviously, it had been a disaster. One that left Tony feeling hollow over the five days that followed, where he was subjected to radio silence from his lover. He tried not to over think it, tried not to harass him with texts and phone calls too much, but Tony detested leaving things there. Not knowing exactly where they stood was worse then saving the fucking world (he could practically feel Stephen rolling his eyes).

   In the end he knew he had to wait for Stephen to come to him. All the while he was plagued with the realization they had been moving fast, almost too fast. He started to think he was pushing too hard, asking for too much, too soon.

   Yet, that night, when he was struggling to fall asleep, he was startled awake by a sudden dip in the mattress. He sat up quickly, hand already out and fitted with a blaster, pointed directly into Stephen’s unimpressed gaze.

   Sheepishly he lowered it, let it slide back into the bracelet around his wrist. Silence filled the space between them, tense and palpable with unspoken words, until Tony decided he had enough, “I’m sorry.”

   Stephen offered a weak smile, “me too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that when you were trying so hard.”

   Something in Tony relaxed at his words, a physical release that made him slump as a wave of exhaustion moved through him, “its alright, I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.”

   Stephen shook his head, “no, its fine. It wasn’t fair of you to be giving so much and me so little.”

   Tony’s eyes raked over Stephen, noted the fact he was in sleep the wear, the Cloak already having hung itself on the bathroom door the way it liked, he cleared his throat, “should we…did you want to get some sleep?”

   Stephen took a shaky breath, “that sounds like a great idea.”

   Then as though nothing had happened, Tony found himself gathering Stephen into his arms as the fell asleep, the comforting heat of body the best lullaby he could ever find. There was plenty to talk about, but it could wait until morning.

 

   When it came, it was to the oddest sensation.

   Tony was aware that the bright red behind his closed eyes was coming from the morning sun, was aware that the heat emanating from his side was Stephen, was well-aware that at some point today he would need to have that talk with him.

   The strange part was the ticklish feeling on his wrist. Despite his grogginess, he focused all his attention on it, trying to identify the unfamiliar feeling. It was shaky but light, like a feather being dusted across his skin. He shivered slightly and it stopped, forcing him too peel open his eyes.

   He groaned as he did so, throwing his other arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight. He tried to shuffle closer to Stephen, but the feeling on his wrist turned into a familiar trembling grip. He immediately tilted his head down and stared incredulously down at his wrist in Stephen’s delicate hold.

   “Tony,” Stephen whispered. He looked up at the man, whose own eyes were glued to where he was holding him, “do you think you could do me favour?”

   He swallowed, his mind still hazy with sleep but with enough cognitive ability to recognize the anxiety in Stephen’s eyes, “anything,” he murmured.

   The corner of his mouth crooked up even as his brows furrowed, “don’t talk, don’t move. Just listen ok?”

   Tony didn’t know if that began now, so he simply nodded, forcing his body to relax into the mattress completely lax.

   Stephen took a deep breath, those piercing eyes staring at his hand, “I have a very complicated relationship with my scars. The emotions they dredge up for me are sometimes so complex that I don’t always understand them.”

   Stephen’s hand loosened, his shaking fingers travelled lower until they were tracing lines on the back of Tony’s hand, a place they had never touched before, “what you said about them being bad memories…you weren’t wrong.”

   His palm came to lay flat on the top of Tony’s hand and his breath caught in his chest at the sight, his mind struggling to keep up with Stephen’s words, “but it has never been that simple for me. My hands…”

   Slowly, those scarred and fragile fingers slipped into the spaces between Tony’s in an inverted hand holding, tears stung his eyes, at the feeling, “when I lost them, I was crushed, even after everything it inspired me to do, going to Kamar-Taj, being what I am today. I hate them Tony, so fucking much, but isn’t just because of what I lost.”

   The fingers loosely gripping him spasmed and Tony swore he could feel the grinding in the nerves and bones. Stephen withdrew them, and it felt like losing something precious, “it was what I gained. I don’t like people touching my hands, I don’t like you touching my hands because they already hurt so much. All it takes is one careless movement and the rest of the day…”

   He used two fingers to raise Tony’s hand, showing him how he wanted it to hover, “don’t move,” he whispered. Tony wouldn’t dare. With his hand hovering, palm down, Stephen slipped his under, wrist twisting so he was palm up. So, so slowly, he raised it until they were properly holding hands for the first time, Tony’s eyes flickered closed, reveling in the sensation. “I don’t like when people look at them its true, but I can live with it. I don’t mind you seeing them, which is why I’ve never worn gloves around you…but I still have bad days.”

   He let go, and Tony opened his eyes, allowed his palm to be guided back down onto the bed, “my chest, on the other hand…is more complicated.”

   Using two fingers, Stephen gripped Tony’s index, he allowed himself to be guided. He watched, shaking slightly, breath harsh, as his hand was brought to hover just over Stephen’s chest, “I’ll admit, some of it is vanity, it can’t be helped I don’t think.”

   His finger was lowered right above a scar just below the last rib on his left, it was tiny, hardly noticeable, “but that isn’t all. These scars, their mine, completely and totally mine. The pain I feel, the memory, the…” Stephen let out a shaky breath and Tony’s eye darted up to his face, saw the struggle there, yearned to say something, to comfort him, but he had promised. He swallowed back the words.

   “Their mine Tony. The thought of sharing them…sometimes it hurts. They are reminders of who I am…that I’m _real.”_

   His finger came to rest on the scar, barely touching and Stephen’s entire body shuddered under the touch. Tony’s entire body felt like a live wire at the almost imperceptible feeling of scar tissue on the pad of that single finger. He looked back at Stephen whose eyes were glassy, his breathing laboured as he stared at where they touched.

   “There was this being I haven’t told you about yet. He hurt me incredibly bad, but he didn’t leave behind any scars,” Tony’s finger was suddenly lifted, as if he couldn’t bare the touch any longer, the trembling in those fingers so much worse, and Tony wanted to cry from the storm of emotions inside him.

   “Sometimes I don’t remember what’s real, what is nightmare, what is this world, and what was _him_. These scars are mine, their proof, their like dozens of secrets locked inside me and to release them is to lose my grip, is to give up my scars to be used against me.” Stephen’s hand shifted again, back to holding Tony’s hand and he couldn’t fucking breath. “I’m sorry that it isn’t clearer. I know their just scars to you, but they are more to me. They represent the scars that you can’t see. Its hard to give that to someone else.”

   “Tony.”

   Looking up he found Stephen’s pained gaze watching him, he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to speak now so he said nothing, “pick one,” he murmured.

   Tony felt like a jolt of electricity went through him, “what?”

   Stephen’s smile was wobbly at best, “pick one, a small one.”

   Tony’s eyes flickered over Stephen’s chest, over where their hands were still clasped together above this damaged skin. He knew Stephen was doing this to show him his trust, but he didn’t need to, just telling him this was enough, but he could also see Stephen needed this.

   Carefully, Tony moved his gaze to Stephen’s side, to a scar he had already identified himself, “this one,” he whispered. “this small circle.”

   Stephen was relived, he could tell, and it finally felt like he had done something right. Stephen’s hand went back to guiding his finger until it was pressed against the small scar in his side, beneath his arm, “breathing tube after the car crash, my broken rib managed to puncture my lung and they needed to reflate it.”

   Watching for Stephen’s reaction, Tony leaned in as slowly as possible, so his intention was clear. He wasn’t stopped, so he pressed an incredibly light kiss to the slightly raised scar. Stephen blew out a heavy sigh, relaxing back into the pillows.

   Tony lifted himself up on his elbow, pressed a hard kiss to Stephen’s lips and tried to convey all his emotions in that one touch, “thank you,” Tony murmured.

   Stephen nodded, “I can’t promise to change, but I’ll try…I’ll try to share what I can.”

   “Its ok, thank you. That’s enough, that’s more then enough.”

   He tugged Stephen back into his arms, felt the beating of his heart next to him, listened to his shaky breathing, tried to remember his life before this man and knew he would wait a lifetime if that was what it took to hear his stories.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Keep my muse alive!


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